


Distance Means Nothing (When Someone Means Everything)

by GhostGarrison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Castiel, Asexual Relationship, Asexual Sam, Asexuality, Established Relationship, Fluff, Illustrated, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Online Relationship, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2010795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After meeting on Ace-Book, Sam and Castiel entered a long distance relationship--Sam goes to college in Palo Alto while Castiel attends university in Murmansk, Russia. No one said long distance was easy, and the road is full of bumps and hardship, but they do their best to make the thousands of miles between them feel like nothing at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HOVER OVER THE RUSSIAN FOR TRANSLATIONS. That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with mobile-friendly translations in the end notes. :)

Every morning, Sam gets a “good morning” text and every night, Sam gets a “goodnight” on Skype. They didn’t mean to make it a tradition. It started when Sam had a particularly busy day in classes and fell asleep while on Skype, right in the middle of their daily video call. Now they do it every single evening without fail. Sam lays on his bed, arm curled around a flattened pillow like it was a body as he peers over the edge of it at his laptop screen on his nightstand—where his partner Castiel is just waking up to go to class in Murmansk, Russia for business. Sam’s call request wakes Castiel up and he lays in bed beside his laptop, dutifully staying until Sam falls asleep. It’s not at all like falling asleep with and waking up with each other, but it’s the closest thing they have. 

***

"I simply cannot believe that you sent me flowers for my birthday," Castiel says over FaceTime. "Sam, you called _Russia_. You called a Russian _florist_. For _me_.”

Sam blushes and looks away from his partner, determined not to let the iPhone in his grip catch the red rising in his cheeks. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

And by saying that, Sam means it wasn’t a big deal sending flowers. The whole _'making an international call to a Russian florist and reading some lines off of a piece of paper printed out from Google Translate'_ —that was a little bit of a big deal, at least for him. He was nervous he would fuck it up, or that they wouldn’t understand him, but all went well in the end.

"Thank you, Sam," Castiel says sincerely, his warm and glowing smile brightening up Sam’s iPhone screen and his overall morning as well. "Really."

"Happy Birthday, Cas."

  
art by Prinzik

***

Near the end of every month, Sam checks his little apartment mailbox habitually, looking for the inevitable and expected letter from Castiel. It was a thing they started back when they first started dating—writing letters because Castiel had yet to get his hands on a decent enough phone.

They agreed to send their letters out on the tenth of each month, mailing them as basic snail-mail in order to be thrifty and equal. Plus, there’s always something nice to be said about waiting for a letter from your loved one to arrive.

Sure enough, on the twenty-seventh, Castiel’s letter arrives—a little beaten and bent, but it’s come a long, _long_ way. His scratchy script embellishes the front, written in both Russian and English. Sam adores the foreign letters of the language he can’t speak and thinks about the very seldom times he’s heard it flow from Cas’ lips when they’re FaceTiming in public.

He opens it on his way to the cafe down the street, where he likes to take notes for class and drink the cheapest coffee near campus. It’s a drawing—wait no, it’s a series of boxes stacked upon each other, some blacked out with permanent marker, with a long numbered list down the side. Sam frowns down at it, pulling his phone from his hoodie pocket.

_[Sam: Dude, you sent me a crossword puzzle…?]_

_[Cas: Look at it closer.]_

_[Sam: Oh.]_

_[Sam: OH!]_

_[Sam: This is amazing.]_

_[Cas: Let me know when you finish it.]_

During his morning coffee-study break, Sam lays the crossword puzzle out across the small tabletop.

 _'Month that we first made contact.'_ That was easy. Sam fills in the word _'September.'_

 _'I Wanna ____ Your Hand - Beatles.'_ He smiles at the reference to pop culture, one of the rare ones. _'Hold'_ goes into the boxes.

 _'Nearly 5-_______ miles between us.'_ It’s a longer word with more boxes, so _'thousand'_ goes into the blanks. Sam zooms down the rest of the list—it isn’t hard, but Cas didn’t try to make it difficult.

 _'What we feel towards each other.'_ Sam stares down at the four little spaces. He knew what he wanted to say, but they haven’t said _it_ yet. He’s not even sure if Cas feels that way. But sure enough, there’s a V as the third letter, and it can only be one word.

Sam fills out the last three boxes with an L, an O, and an E.

_'LOVE.'_

***

Castiel was told that a special package was coming in the mail for him several weeks ago. After seeing the little slip of yellow paper on his apartment door indicating there’s a package at the post office for him, he turned right back around and walked the six city blocks to retrieve it.

As soon as he was behind his closed door, Castiel whipped out his small pair of scissors and carefully tore through the tape lining the edges of the box. It was much heavier than it looked, the cardboard bent and bowed under the pressure its contents. Whatever Sam put in here, he packed it well.

When the top of the box is folded back, he’s immediately met with bright red. Castiel gingerly takes it out of the box, sleeves and hood unfolding from the garment and he realizes that Sam has sent him a hoodie with ‘Stanford’ emblazoned on the front in white appliquéd letters.

His hands are shaking, just a little. Castiel slowly brings the garment to his chest, clutching it in a hug—a hug he wishes he could give the real thing, but his heart stutters when he realizes Sam has sent him a temporary replacement.

Castiel pulls it over his head—his button-down shirt and sweater be damned—and inhales deeply into the neckline as it settles over his shoulders. It’s loose on his frame, but cozy in the chilly air of the apartment and every bit of the sweatshirt screams _Sam Sam Sam._

He unpacks the rest of the box, pulling out one more hoodie, navy blue this time with a zipper and white cord pulls, and a couple tee shirts. Their cotton fabrics are softened from numerous uses and Castiel can tell that Sam sent some of his more favored shirts. He examines each one of them, holding them carefully in his grip like treasured possessions, before stashing them in an empty drawer in his nightstand.

Donning only the Stanford sweatshirt and boxer shorts, Castiel falls asleep much easier that night, nose buried deep into the fabric and drifting away into unconsciousness to the scent of the man he misses like a desert misses the rain.

  
art by prettyjared

***

They’re FaceTiming on a Thursday, and Sam has woken up especially early to catch Castiel at a good time. It’s the asscrack of dawn in Palo Alto and only early in the evening in Murmansk.  


Sam sits up against his headboard of his tiny room in his apartment, with one fading desk lamp on to illuminate his face so that his partner could see. Castiel had sent an iMessage earlier the previous day, saying that five in the afternoon would be a good time to FaceTime, and when Sam does the math, it works out to… four in the morning. Urgh.

He’d do anything to see his Castiel, even if it was waking up early in the morning on a weekday. But of course, it’s been hard. People always said that being in a long distance relationship isn’t easy… but _this_ , this was very _very_ hard. The sun isn’t even close to rising yet.

But when Sam’s phone plays the FaceTime call jingle and Castiel’s face comes onto the screen—with his perpetual five o’clock shadow, messy hair, impossibly blue eyes, and the warmest smile—all of Sam’s worries and hang-ups about the distance between them melt away.

"Good morning, Sam," Castiel greets him as FaceTime buffers the video. Sam can see the rough shape of him, probably sitting in a cafe for the free internet, and then the connection fully loads and Castiel’s face comes into perfect clarity.

"G’mornin’," Sam murmurs back, voice rough and slurred from sleep and the early time of day. He clears his throat and tries again. "Good mornin’, Cas."

"I’m sorry. I understand it’s very early there, but it was the only time today that I would be available and have wireless," Cas apologizes, and Sam understands, really. He’d rather wake up before sunrise to see another sun in his life than be stuck to somewhat impersonal texting instead.

"Нет, я в порядке," Castiel says to someone offscreen, to someone in the cafe. The Russian slides so easily off his tongue that Sam is captured; he rarely ever hears Castiel speak it, only a few words that don’t translate well here and there. "Один кофе, пожалуйста. Обычный, без молока или сахара … Да, пожалуйста. Ничто иное."

Sam lets the foreign syllables wash over him and his eyelids droop, lashes brushing the skin of his cheeks. He nearly falls asleep right then and there, listening to Castiel speak, except for a “Sam, Sam?” beckoning him back.

"It’s nice," Sam mumbles, eyes opening just enough to see Castiel on his bright screen, who tilts his head in a questioning manner. "You speaking Russian."

"I can do more if you’d like," Cas replies smoothly, corner of his lips curving up. "Я могу сказать больше."

"Mm," Sam hums, settling down into the sheets, ready to sleep. "Go on."

Castiel smiles, obliging him. “Я надеюсь, что у вас есть хороший день сегодня, Сэм. Вы очень важны для меня. Я так тебя люблю.”

***

From the first moment they talked about it, Sam started saving money to meet Castiel in person. Little by little, a dollar here and there, shaved off his paycheck at the end of each month or pennies and dimes saved by using coupons at the grocery store.

It’s actually surmounting to a considerable fund, but flights to—or even from, they didn’t know who was visiting first—Russia are very expensive. Sam checks those prices online every single week, keeping an eye out for a possible but not probable dip in airfare. They never do dip below a thousand.

Sometimes Sam stares at the money he has saved for the visit—he could spend it on food or rent or course books or tuition… but seeing Castiel is _priceless._

***

The _best_ thing is talking about what they’d do if they were together in person.

Sam likes toying with the idea of staying in all day, sleeping in while wrapped up in each other’s arms and one of them waking the other with slow languid kisses because they have so many of them to catch up on. His dream-visit always includes lots of touching and cuddling, enough to get it out of his system before they inevitably have to part ways again.

Castiel, on the other hand, seems to wish to do the opposite. He always speaks of going out and seeing the city, visiting places he’s never seen before and sharing all of those new experiences with Sam. Of course, he’s always up for holding hands as they go about their day and ending the day in a relaxing manner—something more in the lines of Sam’s style, and that’s the true difference between them.

But at the same time, talking about all of these hypotheticals is the _worst_ , because they _can’t_ do these things.

Not yet, at least.

***

"It’s called Avocado," Sam explains over one of their Skype calls. "It’s an app for people in long-distance relationships."

Castiel listens to him intensely, always listening to and giving consideration to all of Sam’s suggestions. He holds his phone in his hands, peering at the screen as Sam guides him through the downloading and registration process. The idea sounds nice—another way they can feel closer to one another.

"And you can send me a hug, if you’d like. Whenever you want."

"A hug?" Castiel asks, looking up from the app’s screen and tilting his head. How could this application help him hug Sam?

"Yeah, all you do is select ‘hug’ and—" Sam brings his phone to his chest, doing a cruel mime of hugging his phone before bringing it away again, "—there."

Suddenly Castiel’s phone vibrates in his grasp. There’s a notification flashing across the screen from Avocado, _‘Sam sent you a hug!’_

Castiel smiles, sending a very enthusiastic one back.

***

**1:48 PM, Murmansk, Russia**

As Castiel takes an afternoon shower, his phone buzzes against the wood surface of his nightstand.

_[Sam: I miss you.]_

_[Sam: I mean I really really miss you.]_

_[Sam: I've never even met you and I miss you. How does that work?]_

_[Sam: Sometimes I wake up and I instinctively search for you in my bed. I can't tell you how many  
times I've dreamed of it.]_

_[Sam: I can't sleep, I'm sorry.]_

_[Sam: I just really want you here.]_

***

"I could fly through Moscow, and then to Los Angeles in California and then you’re not too far from there."

"I’ll be in Lawrence for the summer, until August," Sam explains. He’s had those plans since the year before. He promised Dean he’d come home at least once. Dean is even driving to Palo Alto just to get him, because money is tight, California is expensive, and Sam is still secretly saving for Castiel’s visit.

"Not an issue," Castiel responds, without a pause or any sort of questioning tone. "Then from Los Angeles, I could fly to… Kansas City? That’s the closest I could get to Lawrence."

“ _Christ_ , how long would this trip even take you?”

"Kayak.com estimates just a little over forty-five hours."

"Fuck," Sam sighs while rubbing the bridge of his nose. "That’s almost two _days_ of traveling, Cas.”

He quietly scoffs, just barely audible over the phone. “I’ve waited this long to see you, a few days more shouldn’t be a problem.”

***

_[Cas: It’s been your turn since yesterday morning.]_

_[Sam: I’ll go do that.]_

When the app finally loads on his phone, Sam almost wants to smack his forehead and throw the phone across his apartment bedroom.

During his last turn, Castiel played the word “QUIXOTRY,” earning himself _one hundred and fifty-nine_ points in just one turn with a double and triple letter score space, not to mention the triple word score space.

_[Sam: You’ve gotta be kidding me. I’m never EVER playing Scrabble with you again!]_

***

Castiel sits back on his heels, staring at the small stacks of clothes surrounding him on his bedroom floor with a small frown on his face. He’s been packing for a half-hour, trying to decide what to bring on his week and a half excursion to Lawrence, Kansas—to _Sam._

He sighs a little in resignation, looking up to where his laptop sits perched on his bed and to the open Skype video-call where Sam sits reading quietly while he packs. The sound gets Sam’s attention and the man looks up from his book at the screen.

"Sometimes I can’t believe it," Castiel begins. "I’m going to see you in three days. _Three days_ , Sam.”

Sam nods—he knows. Those seventy-six-and-a-half hours will be some of the longest of his life.  
But he’s already started the countdown.

***

"So, uh," Dean starts, standing at the door and looking like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. "Your boyfriend gonna be okay with an air mattress?"

Sam turns to face his brother from where he’s cleaning the bathroom counter. Dean’s small house has enough space for the two brothers, but it isn’t nearly big enough to have three grown men under one roof, not to mention _clean_ enough—at least not yet.

"Yeah, Dean. It’ll be fine," Sam answers, even though he’s not sure what the sleeping situation will be like. Dean’s guest bed is a queen and they’d both fit, but he’s not even sure if Castiel would want to sleep together after only meeting for the first time. Even so, Sam would gladly volunteer to sleep on the air mattress instead. Or even the couch.

He’ll be okay with whatever Castiel is comfortable with, but Sam has waited for more than a year to fall asleep with Cas in his arms and wake up to the warmth of his body pressed against his.

***

Sam’s phone buzzes for the sixth time that morning, tossed aside somewhere on his mattress but he ignores it. Laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, Sam thinks. And thinks. And thinks, and thinks, and _thinks._

_'What if we don't click that well in person? What if we don't get along when we finally do meet? What if we don't like each other as much after meeting? Cas is set to be in Lawrence for a week, would he be able to move his flight? How awkward would that be? What if he and Dean don't get along? What if Castiel doesn't like how I look? How tall I am? What if—'_

His phone buzzes again and reluctantly, Sam retrieves it from among the sheets.

_[Cas: I’m boarding my last flight. I love you and I can’t wait to see you without a screen separating us.]_

Maybe everything will turn out just fine.

***

Castiel has his own doubts about the trip and his wall built of steely resolve and newly-found confidence comes crumbling down upon him the minute he takes his window seat on the flight from Los Angeles to Kansas City, Missouri—only a forty minute drive for Sam to pick him up.  
Looking out the small oval window, Castiel gazes at the colorful morning sky as the sun rises from the west. He exhales softly, folding his hands in his lap to keep them from fidgeting, from _shaking_.

He’s nervous, but how could he _not_ be?

Sam is the most amazing person he’s ever met. It’s practically a miracle that they even found each other, not to mention started dating. What if he messes it up? What if Sam doesn’t like him in person? What if this trip turns out to be a disaster?

Taking deep breaths, Castiel tries to reign himself in—repeating _'Sam in three hours, hugging Sam, kissing Sam, holding his hand.'_

And his hands shake a little less.

***

When the plane’s wheels hit the ground in Kansas City, something comes alive deep in Castiel’s veins, like his body knew that he was _oh-so-very_ close to seeing Sam. It runs through him like a jolt of electricity, washing over him like a wave of both relief—that he survived the forty-five hours of traveling—and excitement, burning away all evidence of anxiety he previously had.

And a mile away, in the waiting lot of the Kansas City International Airport, something bright and electric buzzes under Sam’s skin as he watches the " _en route_ " notification on the updates board turn to " _landed._ " The two days of the emotional rollercoaster between anxious and excited are coming to a close.

***

Sam stands in the domestic arrivals area, near the back of a small crowd of people who are also waiting to meet travelers. He towers over most of them and it’s one of those rare times that his height gives him a clear and wanted distinct advantage: he can see the automatic sliding doors of the arrival hallway over the top of the crowd.

He’s such a mix of emotions—excitement, relief, nervousness… and maybe panic?—but he tries to keep it stowed so that he doesn’t overthink the whole ordeal. Looking around the crowd, Sam spots that some people have flowers or balloons or large signs welcoming their loved ones home.

He looks down at his meager sign, written in his best handwriting with blue and green sharpies on a small poster-board. _‘Welcome Castiel'_ is all that is written on it. He didn't want to decorate it too much, or write something too sappy or cliché. Other people’s signs have hearts drawn all over them, with glitter and crazy colors and drawings.

Sam’s sigh is cut short when the arrival doors open and a slow but steady stream of people comes trickling out. Keeping his eyes open and his breathing level and his heartbeat steady, he keeps an eye out for Castiel—dark haired, blue eyed, beautiful and utterly _wonderful_ Castiel, with the smile that always brightens up Sam’s day and the voice that echos through his mind for hours after they hang up.

The voice he’ll get to hear in person, not filtered by speakers or bad connections. The smile he’ll get to see, framed by pink chapped lips he’ll get to kiss.

***

Castiel braces two hands on each side of the airport bathroom sink, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. After forty-five hours of traveling, he feels gross, and it definitely shows—the bags underneath his eyes that nearly match the dark blue hue of Sam’s zip-up sweatshirt that he’s worn since he began his trip in Murmansk, his hair is messy and unsalvageable at this point, and a bit of stubble gracing his jaw.

Still, he splashes a little cold water on his face, trying to rejuvenate himself a little before heading towards the airport exit, past the security checkpoint, out to arrivals and to where Sam told him he’d be waiting.

 _'This is it,'_ he silently tells his reflection in a resolute manner, trying to psych himself up to go and finally meet his partner in the flesh after such a long haul. _'Over a year of dating. Fifteen weeks of planning this trip. Forty-five hours of traveling across continents and oceans.'_

He tries repeating it, but his heart speaks a little louder, a little more clearly, with an irresistible gravitational pull. _‘Sam, Sam, Sam.’_

***

The watch on Sam's wrist ticks at an unbearably slow rate.

It feels like it’s been forever since Castiel's plane landed—shouldn't he be out here by now?—but when Sam looks at his watch again, it indicates the plane landed only twenty-two minutes ago. With de-planing and walking through the airport and maybe even a bathroom stop, Cas isn't really late or anything.

Sam absently rolls the edges of the sign between his fingers, ruining the paper with his fidgeting. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches families, friends, and lovers reunite together right then and there in the arrivals area. There's an older woman crying silently into the shoulder of who seems to be her son returned from the military and it tugs on Sam's heart for a brief moment until he spots a familiar flash of dazzling blue and dark hair.

His head turns back towards the arrivals frosted glass sliding doors, where a small stream of people filter through—one of whom, Sam sees, has dark messy hair, blue eyes, and is wearing _his sweatshirt._

"Cas!" Sam can't keep himself from calling out over their respective crowds. Castiel's head whips around, frantically glancing to see where Sam is, so he shouts again. "Cas!"

Finally, he sees Sam.

And their eyes meet, over shoulders and between bodies of the crowd.

Suddenly Sam finds himself in motion, taking fumbling steps towards him and it appears that Castiel is doing the same, the welcome sign in his hands is forgotten.

It's like he's falling, being pushed forward by some invisible force. He can't fight it, he wouldn't even try, so he goes with it. The crowd and the people Sam steps between and around start to disappear. He feels like the rest of the world is blurring and there's only one point left in focus. Cas.

And he's only a few feet away, arms stretched out and looking at him with a tired face but a gaze and smile that lights up even the darkest corners of Sam's heart.

They tumble into each other's arms, immediately clutching around each other as hard as they can. Castiel's arms wrap around his ribs, hands reaching up to grasp at his shoulder-blades and hold him close. Sam does the same, taking Cas into his own embrace and folds him in close, determined not to let him go until he feels necessary, wishing to cover him up and absorb him completely.

Their faces end up pressed close into each other's necks and Sam is nearly overwhelmed by his senses. Castiel is warm against the skin of Sam's cheek, he can feel his pulse racing under the taut muscle of his neck and shoulder. The physicality of their proximity seems instinctually impossible, but yet here they are.

Sam feels a wetness grace the corners of his eyes, it's uncontrollable. It's like a flood of emotion, previously pushed back due to the busyness of preparations for Castiel's visit and the stress he's endured, finally unleashing at this moment in time. He closes his eyes, savoring the fact that these are some of the most happiest tears he's ever shed in his lifetime.

Savoring the fact that Castiel is right _here_ , within reach, in his grasp. Finally.

They stay like that for a gratuitous amount of time, much longer than any average hug but Sam couldn't care less, and neither could Cas, it seems. They've never gotten to hug each other in person, they have more than a year of catching up to do.

But it's not too long until Castiel's arms loosen around Sam's back, signaling to let go. Keeping a sigh to himself, Sam pulls away reluctantly, but his arms remain loosely around the weary traveler. Castiel looks up at him, smiling a smile that warms Sam from head to toe. He can't stop from smiling back, there's no holding anything back now. There's no need to.

"Sam," Castiel speaks, for the first time in person, and it's _glorious_. His voice is just as rough and as low as it is when it comes through speakers of a phone or computer, but somehow much better.  


Castiel's eyes flicker down to Sam's lips a few times before they both lean forwards. The last thing Sam sees is Cas' eyes fluttering shut before his own close, a split-second before their lips meet.

It's only a patient press of their mouths, shorter than Sam would like it to be—he could kiss those lips for hours, and who knows, maybe they'll do just that when they get back to Dean's house—but they pull away again, still holding onto each other like they're never letting go.

Eyes narrowing for a moment in a very familiar squint, Castiel peers at him curiously.

"Sam," Cas repeats, with a hint of a smirk building at the corner of his lips. "You weren't supposed to be this _tall_."

***

The hour drive back to Dean's house in Lawrence is quiet, but Sam feels that his heartbeat is deafeningly loud, a resounding noise that echos between his ears, disrupting the silence in the air.

He keeps left hand on the wheel, keeping the Impala steady on the road—Dean would kill him if there was even just a scratch on her paint, but he still handed the keys over in a great show of trust in order for Sam to pick Castiel up—while his right hand lies on the black leather of the bench seat between them.

Castiel's left hand does the same, laid over Sam's with their fingers laced together, heat reverberating between their palms. He lazily looks out the window at the passing scenery—mostly trees and open land lining the Kansas turnpike. Every time Sam glances over, he swears he can see Castiel's eyes droop shut for a brief moment before snapping back open, nearly falling asleep. It would be adorable but Sam knows Cas isn't just sleepy, he's _tired_.

But really, Sam couldn't blame him, not one bit. He'd be just as tired if he was the one who traveled forty-five hours across the hemisphere.

***

"And this is my room," Sam announces, ushering Castiel through the doorway. "Or the room I use when I come visit Dean, at least."

Castiel inspects the room with a careful eye, just as he did with the rest of the rooms during the house tour, but this time he takes his sweet time exploring the nooks and crannies of the room. Sam deposits Cas' suitcase at the foot of the bed, out of the way but within reach.

"I, uh, hope you don't mind sharing," Sam starts again, interrupting Castiel's roam about the room. He stops mid-stare at a photo collage on the wall to spin to look at Sam, brows knit together. Sam's quick to continue. "I mean, I'll take the air mattress or the couch or something."

Cas stares at him for a long moment, impossibly blue eyes flicking from Sam to the bed and back a few times before taking a breath to speak.

"Sam," he says sternly. "I did _not_ travel this far for you to sleep on an air mattress."

***

Castiel emerges from the steamy bathroom close to midnight, donning pajamas and Sam's red hoodie. He's busy rubbing an off-white towel over his hair to catch the droplets of water.

"You're gonna be hot in that," Sam points out from where he's reclined on the bed, gesturing to the sweatshirt that hangs loose on his partner's frame.

Castiel stops drying his hair, letting the towel hang limply at his side as he drops his gaze to what he's wearing. He hums lightly, shrugging in what seems to be agreement.

"I suppose I don't need it," he says before pulling it over his head, dropping it and the towel unceremoniously to the floor before sliding into bed beside Sam. "Because now I have the real thing."

***

Sam loops his arms around Castiel’s waist, tugging him backward across the mattress until they were flush together, chest to back. Just over a year of dating long-distance and Sam finally has the love of his life in his bed. Castiel has already fallen asleep, dead tired from his long trip to Lawrence, so Sam lets his head fall into the crook of Cas’ neck, breathing in deeply.

There’s nothing better than the scent of the one you love finally sleeping in your arms.

***

When Sam wakes up at a leisurely nine thirty-eight in the morning, his arm is stretched out over empty space on the sheets. A _cool_ empty space, lacking any evidence of a second bed occupant.

His eyes snap open and he sits up quickly. _Was it all a dream? Is Castiel still in Murmansk, doing research before he gets ready for bed?_

That would be the worst, most _cruel_ joke the world could ever play on him.

But sure enough, the carry-on suitcase is still at the foot of the bed and the towel is still on the floor from the previous night.

Sam wanders out to the kitchen, drawn there by the promising smell of food and the soft sound of conversation. It turns out that both Dean and Castiel are awake, the latter is at the stove, cooking in a stolen pair of Sam's baggy pajama pants and the Stanford hoodie.

"Dude, you've gotta try these pancakes," Dean says from the table. "You should convince him to give us the recipe, because _damn_.”

Sam smiles but doesn't reply, instead joining his partner at the counter. He lays his head against Castiel's shoulder, watching lithe hands prepare another stack of fluffy pancakes.

"Thought you'd sleep more," Sam murmurs against his shoulder.

Castiel smiles warmly but doesn’t take his eyes off the pan of three golden pancakes. "I've never slept so well in my life."

***

They spend the day together, exploring the city of Lawrence like tourists. Sam's never felt the need to visit the museums in more recent years, having exhausted their purpose and novelty after the first few trips back to Lawrence when he was younger, but Castiel seems to be in love with them.

They stand in the panorama exhibit of the Lawrence Museum of Natural History—the taxidermied animals stare back at them as Sam trails behind Cas, who is more or less reading every single informational plaque.

At least they're holding hands. Sam would go to every single hall exhibit of every single museum in all of Lawrence if he gets to hold hands and be with Castiel. That's a spectacle in and of itself.

"I think..." Cas turns to him, later when they're in the car on the way to a restaurant downtown. "I think that was our first date."

Sam's brows knit together, not sure what Castiel is trying to say. "We've been on dates before."

"I meant a real date," Castiel shrugs, looking back to the window as the car pulls out of the museum's parking lot. "A _normal_ date, like normal couples."

"We've never been normal, and we don't have to try to be."

***

Dinner was... well, 'romantic' is the best word Sam can think of to describe it. He didn't realize just how _nice_ it is to talk with Castiel when he's only a few feet away, face to face and in the flesh. All they ever do is talk about stuff, but _oh_ , how it's different when they're together in the same space.

Now they're back in Sam's bed, arms loosely looped around each other as Castiel's lips find his own, repeatedly and relentlessly. Cas kisses him like a dying fire, down to the embers after a long day but still burns as hot. With every touch of their lips, it draws the breath right out of Sam, leaving him dizzy and disoriented and filled by Castiel's love and tender attention.

Sam could stay like this forever, it's everything he's dreamed about for months upon months, and guess what?

He get's to do it all over again tomorrow.

***

Everywhere they go, Castiel carefully ensures to take every opportunity for photographs. And not only just photographs of museum exhibits and the statues and scenery of downtown Lawrence but also tons of photographs of themselves, to the point of asking complete strangers nearby to help take a photo of them.

At first, it strikes Sam as excessive. But it only takes one tiny remark for the meaning of Cas’ actions to practically punch him in the face, his own brain calling him an idiot.

“Well, we’ve never had any photos together until today.” _Oh._

By the end of the day—in addition to Castiel's camera memory card—the camera roll of Sam’s own iPhone is filled to the brim with pictures of them holding hands, smiling, making faces, and even a few pictures of them kissing. Thankfully, Sam’s arm is long enough to take decent enough selfies with his partner, giving him pictures he’ll able to keep close to him and look at any time, even when Castiel is gone.

art by kayaczek

***

Tonight is a casual and relaxed night-in, since they've been going out every day since Castiel arrived. They're in the living room, stretched out on the worn cushions of the couch together while they watch a movie and eat delicious Russian tea cakes smuggled in by Castiel's suitcase.

"Sam?" Castiel asks, keeping his eyes on the screen. Sam looks over to him, eyes attentive. "Do you think we'd be drift compatible?"

The corners of Sam's lips turn up in a small smile as he looks back to the screen. "Yeah."

"Really?" Castiel asks skeptically, glancing to Sam for confirmation.

"Definitely."

Castiel is considerably pleased by this admission, and as Mako and Raleigh engage in the final fight to the Rift, Castiel elbows Sam gently to get his attention again. "Do you want another tea cake?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"No," Castiel says, smiling as he reaches into the box of cookies. "I don't."

"See? Drift compatible."

***

Sometimes Sam catches himself thinking, drifting off into thought while they're relaxing before dinner or in bed before falling asleep.

The past few days have been some of the happiest that Sam has had in a long time. He's been able to spend time with the man from the other side of the world, the man he's come to know and _love_. It's all been so incredible that sometimes he can't believe that Castiel is actually there—in Lawrence, in his bed, in his arms.

And despite knowing that this is not a dream, he knows it will still come to an end in a few days, when Castiel has to go back to Russia.

***

"I fold."

"So soon, Sammy?" Dean chuckles. "Come on."

Sam rolls his eyes sarcastically before flipping over the last card in the community line-up, completing The River. It's a ten of hearts, and Sam can see right through Dean's Poker face—he's got something good in his hand and his confidence shows in subtle ways that Sam is very familiar with.

Castiel, on the other hand, has a face made of steel or stone. Throughout the entire game, he's made no indication of what kind of hand he has, be it good or bad. But he's stayed in, even when Dean bet high, and that counts for something.

"Alright, bets are in. Check this out," Dean says proudly, laying his cards out in a fan on the kitchen table, including three tens, an ace, and a six. "Four tens. Beat that."

"Xорошая попытка." Castiel glances down at his cards for a moment before laying them on the table as well. A ten, jack, queen, king, and ace—all hearts. "Straight flush."

"No _fucking way!_ "

***

"Remember when we first met?"

Castiel looks up from stirring the bowl of cookie dough, hands slowing only slightly as his eyes narrow in a squint. "You mean online?"

"Yeah," Sam nods, checking the oven's temperature. "Like our first messages and stuff."

Castiel laughs. "They were awkward."

"No, they were cute." Sam says but Cas gives him a _look_ and he relents. "Okay, yeah, they were a little awkward. But we got better, you know, when we became friends."

"And they haven't felt awkward since the day you asked me out," Castiel states, spooning out the dough onto the baking sheet. "But... did you ever imagine us getting this far?"

"I never..." Sam pauses, considering Castiel's question carefully. It feels like a loaded question, but it's not something that Cas would try to trap him with. He's not like that. "I never expected to find _anyone_ on Ace-Book, especially someone and amazing as you. And then asking you out was really hard, and I was so worried I was gonna fuck it up."

"Well, let me just say that you have been nothing but perfect since Day One," Castiel says with a smile, retrieving two clean spoons from the kitchen drawer. "Now, come help me lick the bowl."

***

It’s been hours since they were supposed to out of bed, but neither Sam or Cas can find the willpower to leave the comfort of each other. It’s way too easy to stay in Sam’s bedroom and deny the reality of the day.

The day that Castiel leaves to return to Russia.

Neither of them have mentioned it yet. Perhaps if they don’t talk about it, it won’t happen. It’s been a great week, the best Sam could have ever hoped for, but the fact that Cas has to leave nearly taints the rest of the good experience.

Castiel is doing a good job at distracting him, kissing Sam to within an inch of his life in the most lazy way possible. It’s the best way to spend a Sunday morning, but it’ll be the last time he does it this way, at least for awhile.

He must not be the only one overthinking it, as Cas’ lips slow against his before he completely pulls away, resting his forehead on Sam’s.

“I don’t— I can’t leave you.” Castiel says, like he’s finally letting out a breath. “Not after meeting you. I _can’t._ ” He swallows. "Я люблю тебя слишком много."

Sam frowns, unable to find the right words.

"I know," is all he can muster, gathering Castiel into his arms and holding him close. They only have a handful of hours left together. The countdown starts again.

***

The drive back to the airport that evening is one of the most painful things Sam has ever done. Somehow, it feels like he's driving to his own execution voluntarily. He's so close to just turning the car around and keeping Castiel for another week, but the world just doesn’t work that way.

It definitely doesn't help that the ride has been completely silent since it started, with only the purr of the Impala's engine and the low playing of the radio station's classic rock. Their hands are laced together on the seat between them, exactly how they were when Castiel first arrived.

It's not fair, none of it is. He finally finds the perfect person and he just so happens to live what feels like a world away. _'Forty-five hours,'_ Sam's mind reminds him of Castiel's upcoming long journey.

Sam rolls to a stop at a red light and glances sideways towards his partner, who sits solemnly in the passenger seat. He looks much more alert and alive than when he first arrived, but there's a profound look of sadness on his face.

Sam lets go of Cas' hand in favor of twisting to take his face into his grip and pulls him into a passionate kiss, one full of love and longing, with a splash of heartache.

They break apart when the light turns green, turning away from each other and letting out heavy sighs in sync.

Sam continues to drive, but how it hurts him to do so.

***

They don’t do it on purpose, but they draw out the farewell process as long as they possibly can, until the last minute before Castiel absolutely has to leave and enter the security line. They hang onto each other for dear life, holding tightly like they’ll never let go.

But they have to, and when the large clock on the wall ticks over to eight-twenty, Castiel lets go. He obviously has much more self control than Sam does.

After making sure that Castiel has his suitcase, his backpack, ticket and wallet, they kiss one last time, but when they pull away and Sam’s eyes flicker open, he’s met with a small rectangular package wrapped in newspaper as Cas pushes it into his arms.

“Open it later,” he murmurs, pressing one linger kiss to Sam’s cheek before turning away, towards the line. “Goodbye, Sam.”

“Bye, Cas,” Sam replies automatically, and it takes all of Sam’s being to hold himself together when he watches Castiel disappear behind the security checkpoint. Now he’s left alone again, and the place where Castiel has occupied for the last week feels like a black hole.

***

Sam sits stiffly in the driver’s seat of the Impala, still parked in the short-term parking area of the Kansas City airport. He flips the package in his hands a few times and examines it for a moment, taking in that it’s wrapped meticulously in yesterday’s paper. Whatever it is, Castiel wrapped it recently.

He tears carefully at the edges, dislodging the tape on one end before reaching a hand in and sliding out the contents onto his lap.

It’s a photo album, wire-coiled with a rather skilled pencil sketch of Dean’s house as the cover, signed in the corner with Castiel’s name and a little heart next to it, which makes Sam smile. His smile grows wider as he flips through the photo album, every space filled with a photo taken during Cas’ stay in Lawrence, pasted into the pages in order of which they were taken.

The last page is a note, handwritten in black ink in a familiar scrawl. Sam strains to read it in the low lighting of the parking structure.

_‘Sam,_

_This past week has been wonderful, full of amazing experiences that I am glad to have been able to share with you. Seeing you in person was better than anything I could have wished for. Having you so close was like a dream come true._

_I confess. I once had doubts about the distance, about how things would go between us in person. But the seven days I spent with you tore those feelings away and I am left with only feelings of love and adoration for you. I want to see you again. I need to see you again. I fear that I will not survive if we wait a year between visits. You have such a hold on my heart that I could have never imagined._

_Alas, we are separated again, but hopefully not for long. Thank you for your hospitality (and Dean's). I love you with all of my being, infinitely more than I hate this distance between us._

_You are worth every mile._

_Sincerely, со всеми моей любви, Castiel.’_

***

It’s well into the evening in Lawrence when Sam’s phone rings, a cheerful dinging noise indicating an incoming FaceTime call. He scrambles to his room to answer it, leaving Dean on the couch to watch the rest of Star Wars IV by himself, which Sam wasn’t quite paying attention to in the first place.

Castiel’s face comes into focus, staying pixelated around the edges due to his apartment building’s shitty internet. He looks dead tired, as expected after such a long trip, and it looks like he’s already settled into his bed, despite it being just after sunrise in Murmansk. “Hello, Sam…”

“Hey, Cas,” Sam greets softly, crossing his room to lay on his own bed—his now uncomfortably _empty_ bed. It's strange, starting up the daily _'how was your day?'_ over the phone after being able to wake up next to each other for a week. “How were your flights?”

“They were tolerable,” Castiel sighs, pulling up the sheet to under his chin. “But the last one had a crying child on it. For _hours_.”

Sam grimaces. “Ugh.”

“I know.”

They linger there in silence for a long moment, reveling in each other's digital presence and mourning the loss of their previous proximity, and it’s quite possible that they both are thinking about the same thing. When Castiel opens his mouth and speaks, Sam’s suspicions are confirmed.

“It’s strange," Castiel mumbles, musing. He sounds pained at the thoughts in his head. "Not being able to reach out and touch you. We were only together a week, but I already got used to touching you and falling asleep next to you,” Castiel continues, casting his eyes away from the camera on his phone, unable to meet Sam's gaze. 

“My bed feels _cold.”_

Sam’s lips curve up into a grin--he can't help it, he really can't. His partner is near tears and he can't keep himself from smiling.

“Well,” Sam says. “I guess you’ll have to wait until Christmas for me to come warm it up for you.”

Castiel gasps and his eyes whip back up towards his phone, widening in glorious surprise and Sam’s heart surges with love and joy on the sight of it.

_"Sam!"_

~

The distance hurts, but it hurts a little less now.

But as the saying goes: _“Distance means nothing when someone means everything.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS for mobile users:
> 
> CAS @ THE CAFE  
> * "Нет, я в порядке," - "No, I'm fine."  
> * "Один кофе, пожалуйста. Обычный, без молока или сахара … Да, пожалуйста. Ничто иное." - "One coffee, please. Normal, without milk or sugar.... Yes, please. Nothing else."  
> * "Я могу сказать больше." - "I could say more."  
> * "Я надеюсь, что у вас есть хороший день сегодня, Сэм. Вы очень важны для меня. Я так тебя люблю." - "I hope you have a good day today, Sam. You are very important to me. I love you so much."
> 
> SAM, CAS, DEAN'S POKER GAME  
> * "Xорошая попытка." - "Nice try."
> 
> CAS' LAST DAY  
>  * "Я люблю тебя слишком много." - "I love you too much."
> 
> CAS' ALBUM LETTER  
> * "Sincerely, со всеми моей любви, Castiel.’" - "Sincerely, with all of my love, Castiel."


	2. The Inbetween Prompts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bits and pieces of this verse that don't particularly fit anywhere (some pre-main fic and some post-main fic) nor require their own separate chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these were originally posted as prompts on my tumblr @ ghostgarrison and I wanted to consolidate them here. Hover over the Russian for translations - also mobile-friendly translations in the end notes. :)

**PRE-Distance Means Nothing**

**From Text To Chat:**

Sam walks back from the coffeeshop next to campus early in the morning, just after eight. He normally doesn’t treat himself like this, getting expensive coffee with cream and caramel, but he just finished an all-nighter for his midterm paper. He deserves it.

His phone vibrates once in his hoodie pocket, signaling a new text either from Dean, Rebecca or Castiel.

But then it vibrates again. And again. And again?

Sam whips the phone out of his pocket, expecting a call from Dean as he’s the only one who calls Sam these days.

_Incoming FaceTime: Cas_

He nearly drops the phone. Cas is calling him? On FaceTime? Should he accept? Of course he should accept, duh. But Sam isn’t even back to his apartment yet. And it’s late in Murmansk, so maybe it’s best to answer it now rather than later when Castiel may be trying to sleep.

Sam’s about to press ‘Accept’ but the call ends, the phone silencing in his grip. He stares down at it, only looking up as he crosses the street to his building. It vibrates again, once.

_[Cas: Sorry, my mistake.]_

_[Sam: Haha, that’s okay. I thought it was strange to be getting a call from you.]_

_[Cas: Is it really that strange of an idea?]_

_[Sam: What? No, not really. Just unexpected, I guess.]_

_[Sam: I was about to pick up when you cancelled it.]_

_[Cas: You were going to take the call?]_

_[Sam: Yeah, I don’t see why not.]_

_[Cas: Hmm…]_

Sam’s helping himself to some leftover pasta from the night before when the next text comes through. He should really take a nap after the all-nighter, but it would really mess up his sleep schedule, and he still has five weeks left of class to get through. Not to mention two more midterms exams to take over the next few days.

_[Cas: May I try calling again?]_

He’s not sure how he’s supposed to answer. Right now? Voice-call or FaceTime? What does Castiel sound like anyways?

Sam knows how he looks, kinda. He’s seen pictures of his friend online, but Castiel has only two posted on his Ace-Book account—one of him standing in a square in Murmansk, wearing a trenchcoat and a suit and squinting in the sunlight, and a second one of himself, a selfie that Sam had asked for previously when they both were just beginning to talk so he could better picture who he was chatting with.

_[Sam: sure]_

And soon enough, not over a minute later, Sam’s phone starts buzzing again, showing Castiel’s picture as his iPhone alerts him that a FaceTime call is coming through. He strides across the room and snatches up the phone, determined not to miss it this time, in case Cas backs out again.

Sam’s face is in a little box in the corner, dark and in shadow. He moves closer to the tiny window of his apartment, his features lightening up again as he watches the main screen buffer. The sound works much faster than the video feed.

"Sam?" Castiel asks, and wow, his voice is so much deeper and raspier than he imagined. "Sam, hello?"

"Yea—oh. Hello, Cas," Sam returns with a smile as his friend becomes more clear.

He can make out that Castiel is indoors, against something dark and wooden, maybe a wall or a cupboard. His friend’s hair is messy, but Sam can tell it was probably combed to the left at one point int he day, and he does look generally like he does in the two pictures Sam has of him. Of course, his eyes are much more blue and almost glowing in the low light of wherever-it-is that Castiel is calling him from.

"Thank you for accepting my call," Cas says in a genuine voice. "It is wonderful to finally see you."

"No problem and, uh, same to you," Sam says, blushing at the slight compliment before he realizes it… He’s _never_ sent Castiel a picture of himself. Well, Cas never asked for one, but it is kind of cruel that Sam’s only picture on Ace-Book is a poorly taken selfie that is more centered on the bell tower on campus than his own face.

Sam has never seen it before, but the smile that grows on Castiel’s face is warm and makes him want to smile in return. His heart flutters a little at the fact that he’s finally seeing his Russian friend, the man he’s been constantly been texting for over a month, someone who he’s come to notice has a heart so similar to his own.

When Castiel flashes him a full grin near the end of the call hours later—after two apartment tours, half an hour talking about accents and language, and listening to Castiel’s sweet laugh—Sam knows it for a fact.

He could get used to video-calls. He _definitely_ could.

***

**The Sleeping Russian:**

Talking with Castiel is absolutely amazing, Sam’s decided.

He’s just so… _interesting_. Living in such a different place—with a unique and historic culture, a different language, a different background —halfway around the world. Sam could listen endlessly about Cas’ experience living in Russia, just like Cas is always eager to learn more about Sam and his own life in the United States as well.

They’ve been talking for a few months now, sending private messages on Ace-book to each other for the first couple weeks, transferring rather quickly to texting and even calling.

When their schedules are free, they prefer to call, making it much easier to communicate rapidly, as opposed to typing every single letter out of every conversation. Secretly, Sam mainly prefers it because he is able to know for sure that Castiel has caught his references and jokes.

Not to mention, they’ve been growing a little flirty lately. Okay, well… _really flirty_. Not that it’s a bad thing.

Sometimes they talk for hours, about everything and anything at all—hobbies, family, friends, classes, childhoods, neighborhoods, embarrassing stories, politics, current events… the list goes on and on. Hell, sometimes they talk about absolutely nothing of substance, just blathering away about the most pointless of things, but Sam enjoys those phone calls too, just as much.

It’s the afternoon for Sam, meaning it’s the middle of the night in Murmansk. He’s a few hours into a telephone call with Castiel, and they have already discussed so much. Sam knows his friend is already in bed, probably not too far off from sleep, judging by all the yawns. Sam offers to say goodnight often, but Castiel wishes to continue their conversation.

"I really do enjoy talking with you," Castiel says sleepily with another yawn. "You’re хороший слушатель."

"What?" Sam says, and then says again, having to repeat himself because of Castiel’s ‘hm?’

"I do not have class tomorrow, I can stay up a little longer."

"Have you even slept in the past few days?" Sam asks, scratching his head. From what he remembered, Castiel just finished a large project, pages upon pages of business sheets and numbers and equations that formulate the future budget of a rather large hypothetical business.

"Нет, Я так не думаю."

"All I know is ‘nyet,’" Sam pronounces the word carefully and frowns, "which I know means ‘no,’ so you should probably get some sleep."

Sam doesn’t allow his friend to protest but instead instructs him to get into bed and refuses to say anymore until he’s fairly certain that the deed has been done. Castiel mutters complaints the whole way down—this tired version of the guy is so different from the formal and alert one Sam is used to.

"Кровать время история?" Castiel mumbles, a little muffled through the speakers of the phone.

"Go to sleep, Cas. I’ll stay on the line until you do."

"Как же приятно засыпать под ваш голос."

"I don’t speak Russian, Cas."

He hums thoughtfully, speaking sleepily and slowly. “Perhaps you should.”

Sam rolls his eyes, switching his phone from being perched on his right shoulder to his left, hunching over his notes for the next day. “Go to sleep, Cas.”

"Сладкий спокойной ночи вам."

“ _Goodnight_ ,” Sam says for the last time, unwilling to hang up until the last moment, until he hears something he can actually comprehend.

"Goodnight," comes the quiet answer before the dial tone.

Satisfied with his small victory, Sam stares at his notes for a little while, thoughts rolling around in his head like tides stuck in a wading pool. He reaches for his laptop, booting it up and arranging it on the desk on top of his notebooks.

The first thing he does is Google search: _"Russian for beginners"_

***

**Partners:**

It’s been a few weeks since they started their long distance relationship, and every day, Sam feels like the sun is shining despite whatever the weather may be. Castiel is one of the best friends he’s ever had—smart, kind, caring, talented, a joy to talk to and laugh with and someone different to share experiences with—he had it all. And now Sam is _dating_ him.

"I haven’t told anyone that I have a boyfriend yet," Sam tells Castiel over the phone as he browses through the grocery store cereal aisle. "Not even Dean."

"I don’t like that," Castiel says plainly, voice crackling through the speaker of the phone.

Sam frowns. “You don’t want me to tell Dean?”

"No, not that… the other thing."

"What ‘other thing?’"

"I don’t want to be called your ‘boyfriend.’"

"Uhm, okay," Sam says, pausing in his search for the bright cheery yellow of the Honeycomb cereal box. He only asked Cas out a few weeks ago and he was pretty clear about it. If they’re not boyfriends, then what the hell are they? "Can I ask why?"

"I don’t like it," Castiel explains, "—the connotations it has. It makes people think we’re something we’re not."

Sam still isn’t following. “What aren’t we?”

"We’re not together in the traditional sense."

 _'Yeah, we're so out of left field in more than one way,'_ Sam’s brain agrees.

"And we’re not… I’m just… I like you, Sam. But I just would rather stay away from that word."

"No, it’s okay. No _really_ , it’s okay,” Sam does his best to assure him. “So then, what would you prefer?”

"Outside of that, I don’t have any preference but I do believe ‘partners’ would suit us best, if you’d agree."

Sam lets the word mull around in his head for a moment, trying it out mentally before he agrees to anything. He’s not overly-attached to the word ‘boyfriend,’ in fact, it’s the first time he’s had one. But he can use something different, if only just for Cas. It’s only a word, after all.

"Yeah," he concedes. "Sure. ‘Partners’ it is."

"Really?" Castiel asks, sounding genuinely surprised that Sam would say yes to such a simple and small but obviously meaningful request. "Thank you, Sam."

"But I have one condition," Sam announces boldly, hoping Castiel catches the joking tone in his voice. "As long as I get to say ‘partners-in-crime’ occasionally."

"Oh,  I _insist_.”

***

**POST-Distance Means Nothing**

**Toska:**

Sam goes about his daily business as usual, not doing anything different than he had before Castiel had visited him in Lawrence. He's already back in Palo Alto, and classes have just begun. All should be good, normal, like he's done for the past three years, but something feels wrong... off... And he just can't seem to place what it is.

He figures it's just the slump that every student feels at the beginning of fall term, the post-summer depression that makes people want to ditch class, sleep in all day, and party like it's still July.

But then Sam realizes this—whatever ' _this_ ' is that he's feeling—hurts far too much and too deep for it to be the back-to-school blues. It's something that aches at the very center of his soul, causing him an anguish that gives him dizzying mental and even physical pain. It's overwhelming, putting him in a state of mind not befit for a senior in college.

When he brings it up to Castiel later on Skype, hesitantly and quietly because he feels a little embarrassed over what he's feeling, Cas only nods knowingly, replying "I feel the same, Sam."

"I believe the feeling we have is 'toska,' which I cannot exactly translate to English," Castiel continues, laying on his side on his bedspread wearing the Stanford hoodie, arms tucked around himself while gazing into his laptop's camera with sullen eyes. He looks worn, a little paler and tired. "It's like a deep anguish of the soul, where you long for something you cannot quite place. Many people also describe it as a feeling of loss or lovesickness."

"Oh," Sam says, realizing what it all meant for the both of them.

The words only ease Sam's heart a little, the ache is still there and going strong, shaking the foundations of his own stability, but there's something to be said for having a word to describe it, even if it's not in English.

***

**Learning Russian:**

Sam lies on his bed, curled up on his side with his arm tucked underneath his head. He's comfortable and almost in a state to take an afternoon nap, but Castiel has other plans for them.

"'Good morning'?" Castiel asks, looking at the camera of his laptop expectantly.

"Uhh," Sam mumbles, thinking hard to yesterday's lesson. "Doh-bro-ya oo-tra."  


"Good!" His partner beams warmly at him, blue eyes gleaming in the light of his desk lamp. "Very good!"

A small burst of pride surges through Sam and he smiles in return.

"And 'good night'?" Castiel prompts again.

"Ah... uh.... Spah-koy...noy...," Sam begins, his established confidence wavering slightly as he struggles to find the rest of the foreign words in his memory. He had only learned them yesterday, so shouldn't they be fresh in his mind?

"No-chee. Spah-koy-noy no-chee," his partner finishes the phrase for him after waiting patiently for Sam to at least have several moments to think about it.

His shoulders lower slightly but the subtle action does not go unnoticed by Sam.

"It's okay," Castiel assures Sam with a gentle smile that always warms Sam's heart no matter what the situation. "You'll get it."

***

**Not Cut Out For This:**

Sam’s busy studying for his Philosophy of Law midterm in two days when his phone rings unexpectedly. He glances over his shoulder to where his phone lays tossed on his bed, a few feet away from his desk in his tiny apartment.

It’s probably Dean, drunk calling him from across the country, most likely to talk about something dumb or a new girl he’s met. Sam sighs, scooting back from the desk and standing up to retrieve his phone. He’ll humor Dean, at least for a little bit.

He nearly drops the phone when he read the caller ID. It’s not four letters, it’s three. “Cas” the phone reads out as it vibrates and jingles in his hand. He stares down at it, remembering the time of day and furrowing his brows.

Sam glances at the clock. It’s nearly three in the morning in Murmansk. Cas never calls this late in the night. He’s always been in bed at a proper time and sleeps through the night, as far as Sam knew.

This is really odd. And it’s never happened before.

"Hello?" Sam asks when he answers the call. "Cas? Everything okay?"

“ _I’m not cut out for this_ ,” comes Cas’ broken voice through the receiver.

Sam’s heart sinks, right through his stomach, past his feet, and through the floor. Cut out for _what_? Could it be…?

"For what?" He has to ask, he has to know it’s not what he thinks.

"For us. For this distance."

Frowning, Sam is speechless, frozen standing in the middle of his empty apartment. Is this it? Is this a breakup call? Is this where it ends? Nearly a year and a half of bliss, gone? He feels himself begin to spiral.

“ _Cas_ ,” he says, trying to not sound like he’s starting to plead.

"I’m sorry, Sam," Castiel says, and Sam can’t help but try to steel himself for what’s coming next. "I just needed to hear your voice."

… What?

"What?"

"I miss you. I miss you so much, it’s unbearable," Castiel continues, still sounding broken and crushed from possibly crying. "I’m sorry I’m calling outside of my usual times, but… I really needed you."

Sam feels like he’s been slapped in the face, with his own goddamn hand for that matter. Cas isn’t breaking up with him. Cas just misses him dearly… and is _hurting_ because of it.

Laying down on his bed, Sam feels relieved himself but worried over Cas’ headspace from a world away.

"I miss you too. So much," Sam says in his most comforting voice. "I’m here for you."

"Thank you."

"Well," Sam starts after a few moments of silence, "let’s talk about stuff. Anything you want."

Sam is perfectly content with talking the rest of his day away with his partner over the phone and ignoring his midterm studying if it means he’s helping Cas feel better about the miles between them. It hurts, but their voices are like soothing ice over their aching wounds.

***

**Fearing for Safety:**

Sam wasn't suspicious the first few times Castiel denied his FaceTime calls or Skype video calls, but it strikes him as strange that his partner was 'too busy' to answer even for a short, ten-minute call over the course of three full days.

However, it doesn't stop him from trying to call during their usual times, trying to catch a peek of Castiel's familiar face and hear his comforting voice before sighing, realizing Castiel wasn't going to pick up and texting his partner instead.

But on the morning of the third day, Castiel picks up—seemingly by mistake. "Hm? Говно!"

Sam's heart nearly stops at the split-second glimpse of his partner before he hangs up, video going dark before returning to his iPhone's home screen. Dark marks mar Castiel's face, one eye dark purple with a healing cut across his other cheek and brow.

Taking a breath, Sam calls again—and this time, Castiel answers without any hesitation.

"Hello, Sam," Cas greets him, sounding solemn and rather guilty like a child in trouble.

Sure enough, Castiel's face looks like it has been beaten to Hell and back—the shiner on his face is dark and looks very painful. He didn't catch it before, but there's another dark bruise on his jaw, near his neck and ear. Castiel's normally tanned face is blossomed with color—purples and blues, tinged with red.

"Oh, _Cas,_ " Sam breathes out, unable to take his eyes off his partner's face on the screen of his phone. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," Castiel mumbles, blue eyes darting elsewhere.

"No, that's definitely not ' _nothing_.' You have a fucking black eye!"

His partner sighs, breath escaping between his split lips that look painfully chapped. "I was cornered outside after our call in the coffee shop on Wednesday night. I could not fight off four of them." He pauses, closing his eyes and steeling himself. "They thought I was _gay_."

Something red hot sears through Sam, burning the thought into his head. _'It's your fault.'_ It really is, though. If Sam didn't video call with Castiel while he was in public spaces, this wouldn't have happened. Those men would have never thought Castiel was gay, and Russia's rampant homophobia would have not been their problem just yet.

It's all his fault.

The fact that Sam cannot reach out to touch Castiel, to help soothe his wounds and hold ice to his bruises, rocks him to the core. This distance between them is most apparent during times like these, when one of them is hurting and reaching out to be comforted. But there's nothing Sam can do from this far away, not physically.

"Have you been putting ice on them?" Sam asks after a few moment's pause. The question sounds dumb, a feeble attempt at changing the subject but there's literally nothing he can do.

"Yes," Castiel simply returns, face still downcast as he offers nothing more.

"Good," Sam replies, trailing off as it becomes clear to them that this subject is done and over with. At least, for now.

~

After a few hours to process, Sam texts Castiel later that day, knowing that his partner was probably—and hopefully—asleep.

_[Sam: You could have gotten really hurt.]_

_[Sam: I mean, you could have gotten killed.]_

_[Sam: Why didn't you say anything?]_

_[Sam: I'm sorry I'm so useless to you.]_

_[Sam: All I wanna do is hold you right now. I want to put ice on your bruises and kiss them better. I want to kick those guys' asses and make sure they never touch you again. I wanna protect you and I fucking can't do that when there's thousands of miles between us.]_

_[Sam: It scares me that you're so far away and in an environment that's so dangerous for you. If you don't want to talk to me that much anymore, I'll understand.]_

He watches the blue bar crawl across the top of his phone's screen, signaling that the last text had been delivered successfully before tossing it across the room to land in the pile of unsorted laundry on the floor. Sam falls asleep on the couch in an afternoon nap, deaf to the vibrations of his phone in the pile of clothing that begin to ring after an hour.

_[Cas: Sam, you are far from useless. Just because you aren't here doesn't mean you are not comforting me. I apologize that I did not tell you about the attack right away. I was too shaken and ashamed, but I realize that it is a matter of trust that I have broken. I also want to do those things for you and protect you from all harm, but we must realize that this is an impossible task given the distance. One day we will, but that day is not today.]_

_[Cas: I love you, and no black eyes, cuts, bruises, or even broken bones will stop me from loving you.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS: 
> 
> THE SLEEPING RUSSIAN  
> * "You’re хороший слушатель." - "You're a good listener."  
> * "Нет, Я так не думаю." - "No, I don't think so."  
> * "Кровать время история?" - "Bedtime story?"  
> * "Как же приятно засыпать под ваш голос." - "How good it is to fall asleep to your voice."  
> * "Сладкий спокойной ночи вам." - "A sweet goodnight to you."
> 
> FEARING FOR SAFETY  
> * "Hm? Говно!" - "Hm? Shit!"


	3. My Thoughts Are Fixed On You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam travels all the way to Murmansk, Russia in order to spend a week with his partner Castiel for Christmas. It's absolutely elating to see each other again, but unfortunately not everything goes as well as they'd hoped.

Sam tries his best to sleep on the ten hour flight between New York and Moscow but he just can’t. He _can’t._ How the hell did Castiel do this in the summertime?

He watches the clouds in the sky, he watches some movies, he even has a lovely two-hour-long conversation with the woman next to him—a young author who is traveling the world on a budget in order to write a book about cheap travel. As it turns out, she’s actually been to Murmansk before and tells Sam some of the ins and outs of the city. 

But he really just spends the majority of the longest flight reading his book— _The New Penguin Russian Course: A Complete Course for Beginners._ It not only reminds him of grammar rules, vocabulary, and pronunciation, but it also gives him a slight rundown on Russian culture, history, and traditions in between chapters.

In the end, he still feels severely underprepared. The last thing Sam wants to do is fuck up five thousand miles away from home in a whole different country.

***

When Sam lands in Murmansk, he immediately looks out the plane’s window. When he slides the plastic shade open, he’s met with darkness. Wasn’t it only three-twenty in the afternoon? Switching his phone back on, it quickly vibrates in his hand, signalling that the first text message brought to him by his temporary international plan has been received.

_[Cas: Please tell me when you land.]_

_[Sam: Just did. It’s so dark out.]_

_[Cas: Indeed. I will be waiting for you.]_

***

Sam feels strange stepping off the Boeing 720—the final airplane of his trip—but he can’t quite place what it is.

He’s absolutely exhausted, having traveled about forty five hours without a wink of sleep. But there’s no nervous tension in his body like there was the first time they met, only an aching deep in his heart that yearns for the closeness he’s dreamed of for several months. Only the flashing memories of sweet lips and blue eyes, soft hands and dark hair, a warm body pressed to his as he slept. Only thoughts of Cas.

He’s almost one hundred percent certain that the feeling is nostalgia, but the only thing that nearly drowns it all out is the overwhelming sense of excitement to have all of it once more, even if for only a short period of time—and it’s a strange mix of emotions.

But it’s what drives him.

***

Sam struggles to read the Russians signs that point him towards the exit of the airport but he’s still proud of himself for reading a language that doesn’t use the Roman alphabet. Tugging his rolling suitcase behind him and hitching the strap of his backpack up on his shoulder, Sam doesn’t have to walk much further until he finds himself in the arrivals area of the surprisingly small airport.

There isn’t a large crowd like there was in Lawrence, only a small collection of warmly dressed people standing arm-widths away from each other as they wait for their friends and family. It doesn’t take as long to find Castiel either—his partner is standing in the front, just a little off to the side and holding a small paper sign that plainly says _“Sam Winchester, Welcome To Russia”_ written in Cas’ neat handwriting.

***

The surge of overwhelming relief that washes over Sam when he finally sees Castiel in the flesh again is indescribable and no less magical than the first time, like seeing a radiant angel in human clothing. Breathtaking, sucking all the air from his lungs.

With long strides, Sam rushes up towards his partner, skidding his bag to a halt beside him before throwing his arms around the man he missed like a soldier missing home. Castiel tenses in his embrace for a split second before relaxing, his own arms coming to grasp the back of Sam’s winter coat briefly before silently pushing him away a few moments later when Sam tries to give him a kiss.

Sam’s immediate gut reaction is to frown, but the nervous darting of Castiel’s eyes around the arrivals area is enough to remind him of exactly why they can’t. They’re in public and they’re in _Russia,_ one of the homophobic capitals of the world.

There’s nothing more in the world he wants at that moment than a kiss from Cas, but that’s okay… because the look, the feel, the smell, the _closeness_ of his love is enough to ease the four-month-long aching feeling in Sam’s heart.

***

Castiel leads the way to his apartment near the city center via public transportation—a busy but efficient trolleybus. It’s so cold that Sam can’t feel the tips of his ears and the ride is long with many stops, but Sam can’t bring himself to care.

He should have known better than to try to publically display his affection for his partner in Russia—as his guidebooks and online articles had dubiously explained, not to mention the vivid memories of Castiel’s black eye and bruises from his attack a month earlier. There’s an itching twitch in his hand that begs him to wrap his around Castiel’s while sitting beside each other on the bus but he forces himself to stop, to sit on his hands instead because he never wants to see Castiel hurt ever again. He won’t even risk it.

But, of course, that doesn’t stop either of them from grinning stupidly at each other the whole ride into the city.

***

Castiel lives on the fifth floor of a very old apartment building about ten blocks from the city’s main plaza. Every dozen stairs or so, he quietly apologizes to Sam for the hassle but Sam assures him it’s no big deal as he carries his bags and his own heavy, tired feet up the rickety winding staircase.

The moment the door of apartment number 504 clicks closed behind them, Sam finds himself pressed up against the wall. Their lips finally meet and it’s like an intoxicating shot of energy. Sam is suddenly wide-awake and alert, arms coming up to wrap around Castiel’s waist as they kiss feverously in the skinny entrance hallway of the apartment, the mood in the air is a mixture of relief and passion, tinged with what feels like sadness.

Soon Sam realizes the corners of his eyes are wet as salty tears escape them for some reason unknown to him. The feeling of Castiel against his mouth, the warmth of his body against him, the tears in his eyes… it all pushes Sam over the edge, into muttering phrases he won’t remember between kisses like “I missed you. I need you, I love you. Oh god, I missed you. I dreamed of this. I missed you, _I missed you._ ”

Castiel quiets his rambling with more kisses, each softer, slower, sweeter than the last.

***

Skipping the tour of the small single-bedroom apartment, they end up on the bed together at Castiel’s insistence. With their shoes kicked off, they lie on the firm mattress, legs tangled and fingers threaded together and foreheads touching. Sam gives Castiel’s hand a squeeze before dragging it up to his mouth, placing a reverent kiss on each knuckles.

“I have waited so long for this,” Castiel whispers into the air between them, bright blue eyes nearly glowing in the dark room. “For you.”

“Too long,” he agrees before kissing his partner’s hand again, his slightly pink and kiss-swollen lips lingering there just a little longer. Sam easily falls asleep to the even breathing and steady thrumming heartbeat of Castiel in his arms once again.

***

Sam feels a little more himself after a shower and some breakfast the next morning but he’s still severely jetlagged. It’s just after ten in the morning and for some reason it’s still a hazy-sort of dark outside when he looks out the fifth-story window.

“Why is it always so dark?” Sam asks with a frown, staring down at the road below that is lit up with street lamps just as it was the evening before.

“You do realize that Murmansk is in the Arctic Circle, correct?” Castiel says, appearing beside him at the window. “In December and January, there is no sun, only twilight for a few hours before night again.”

“Oh?” Sam had no idea. It made sense but he can’t believe he didn’t think of it since he knew the city was so far north and no guidebooks or forums or articles warned him about it. “Guess I didn’t need to pack sunglasses,” he says with a grin.

***

They end up walking around the streets of the city, all bundled up in a few layers, hats, and coats. Sam feels a little strange walking shoulder to shoulder with Castiel without holding his hand—something they did everywhere when Castiel visited him in Lawrence, but he supposes that’s the difference.

To keep himself from instinctively reaching out and threading his fingers through Cas’, Sam shoves his own in his coat pockets, fiddling with a gum wrapper to keep himself occupied. At lunch, Cas offers him some extra gloves from his small backpack, mentioning how cold Sam’s hands must be since he keeps them in his pockets.

Sam smiles and takes the gloves, thanking his partner but saying nothing more. His hands are a little cold, but only in a way that only Castiel’s warmth could cure.

***

Sam is sifting through his clothes in his suitcase for his pajama pants and a shirt when Castiel comes and seeks him out, carrying two hoodies and a few shirts folded neatly and stacked in his arms. It takes a moment for Sam to recognize them as his own, the ones he sent Castiel in a box much earlier that year. The corners of his lips tug up at the sight of them.

“Please wear these soon,” Castiel says, pressing them into Sam’s arms. His expression turns sheepish and a burning red blush rises to his cheeks when Sam looks at him questioningly. “I may have, hm, washed them too many times. They no longer smell like you.”

“Oh!” Sam gasps when he finally understands why Castiel thrust the clothing into his lap. He quickly plucks the red Stanford hoodie from the stack, throwing it over his head. “We’ll make sure to fix that this week.”

Castiel smiles. “In the meantime, I’ll enjoy the real thing instead.”

***

The next day, Castiel takes him on a small historical tour of the city. They visit the Alyosha Monument, which is a massive statue of a Russian World War II soldier that can be seen from nearly any corner of the city, and a walking tour of a few smaller monuments within the city limits.

But with there constantly being people around, they can’t do any of the things they could in Lawrence—hold hands, kiss, or take selfies together. Not without fear of tauntings or even another physical attack. The country’s homophobic laws and population keep them acting as strictly friends or else they might be “unlawfully promoting non-traditional sexual relations,” a law that is almost laughably ironic in their case.

But still, the danger is there and it torments Sam all day.

***

It takes them a few days to realize that going out is simply incredibly difficult and hard on the both of them. In fact, going out turns into a little bit of a chore. It’s cold, it’s dark, and they can’t do even the simplest of things as a couple.

So they stay in more, becoming short-term hermits and holing up in Castiel’s small and barren apartment but infinitely enjoying each other’s company more. There, in the safety between the white walls, they’re able to touch and hold and kiss and talk about whatever they want, whenever they want. 

Sometimes Cas mutters about previously made plans or places he’d like to take Sam, but such protests die down quickly when Sam kisses the words from his lips, both of them getting lost in the utter bliss they find in each other, in the fact that they can finally reach out and touch each other once more without a screen or five thousand miles between them.

***

Sam wakes up cold.

No, not cold. He wakes up _fucking freezing_. 

His toes are numb, as well as the tips of his nose and ears and every other inch of skin that’s exposed to the chilling air of the apartment. It’s pitch black in the bedroom but Sam can’t assume that it’s still night because of the _Arctic-friggin-Circle._ When he glances over his shoulder, Castiel’s digital alarm clock red letters display that it’s thankfully only a little past two in the morning.

He tries to curl up under the blankets but ends up huddling against the other warm body in the small bed instead. Sam knows it’s a total douchebag thing to do but he wriggles his feet until they’re pressed against Castiel’s warm ones, causing the man to jolt awake.

“что?” Cas mumbles as he comes out of his slumber. Sam braces for him to be mad or something for the rude awakening, but instead his partner reaches around Sam, pulling him in until they’re flush together. Sam melts against him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were so cold?”

“‘M sorry,” Sam manages to whisper into the crook of Castiel’s neck, eyelids feeling heavy again as he warms up.

***

Of course, Castiel couldn’t take the entire ten days off from his coursework—Sam knows that research and studying are never finished for Castiel in his program. They set aside the late afternoons, just before dinner, to cover themselves with blankets in Castiel’s bedroom and surround themselves with books.

He would never admit it, but Sam gave up on reading his Russian language books early on in the trip in favor for watching his partner move about naturally, to observe him in his own home, his comfortable space. It’s something he’s never gotten to do and he savors every minute of it.

Cas’ brows furrow together when he’s concentrating, purses his lips when he’s pouring over a particularly complex text, shakes his foot when he’s thinking. And sometimes Sam gets a glimpse of a pink tongue dart out between winter-chapped lips. 

Each and every little quirk that he learns about his partner delights him to the point that he has to hide his smile behind his book when Castiel glances suspiciously in his direction.

***

They fill the rest of their days and evenings doing a multitude of things—playing board games, reading books, daily Russian lessons which Sam mostly spends entranced with Castiel’s voice, all usually followed up by making out under the blankets of Castiel’s bed. It’s so easy to pass the time together, simply just enjoying that they’re together again, in the flesh.

During times like these, it’s easy to forget that Sam has to leave in a few days and they’ll be apart again, this time for an indefinite amount of time.

***

“Double the amount of rum, please.”

Sam casts Cas a look but follows his directions—after all, he’s the one who’s actually made this dish before. He pours in extra rum into the concoction of jam, wheat, eggs, and sugar in the bowl before him. Sam honestly has no idea what the end product named “Povidlyanka” is supposed to look or taste like, but Castiel has simply described it to him as “jam pudding.”

After working side by side in the tiny kitchen, Sam and Castiel move to the small table by the window to eat their traditional Russian dinner. Each dish like nothing Sam has ever eaten before but is delicious nonetheless. He feels that the handmade meal means more than just good food but rather an intimate sharing of traditions and culture. There’s a piece of both of them here, within each plate that were carefully made and arranged by either of them.

The moment of truth comes and Sam watches carefully as Castiel takes the first bite of the pudding. There’s a small feeling of relief that rushes through Sam when Castiel puts his spoon down and smiles at him.

“It’s perfect.”

***

Having been well fed, they stretch out as best as they can on Castiel’s small couch to watch a movie on Castiel’s laptop. Sam brought a small DVD case with fifteen of his favorite movies and shows, and while he’s watched probably almost half of them on his flight over to Russia, he lets his partner choose which one they’ll watch.

“I’m having difficulty choosing between _The Princess Bride_ and _Life of Pi_.”

“Ah, I mean, I like them both—”

“But what is this? _Firefly_?” Castiel asks, waving around the shiny disk hooked on his finger.

“You don’t—you mean, you’ve never—?” Sam stutters out, eyes narrowing on his partner. Castiel shakes his head. “Oh my _god_. We’re watching it.”

***

“The Christmas Market opens today,” Castiel informs him cheerfully the next day, pulling their coats out of the small closet in the corner of the bedroom and handing Sam his. “It wouldn’t be right sending you home without experiencing it.”

Castiel proceeds to tell him all about it as they pull their layers on, getting ready to brace the eight degree Fahrenheit weather that threatens the safety of Sam’s ears and fingers. Sam pulls an extra shirt on under his hoodie and coat to stave off the chill as Castiel tells him all about the food made by local chefs and stands upon stands of handmade goods from people who come from all over the Kola peninsula.

Sam finds Cas’ excitement incredibly charming and he can’t help but to plant a kiss on the man’s lips, interrupting him in the middle of a rather vivid description of the lights strung through the squares.

“How about I see it myself?”

***

Sam’s not sure if he’s spent too much time in the tepid weather of California or if he’s just a big baby, but _damn_ , it’s fucking cold out—even with the all the layers.

Even so, it doesn’t take away from his enjoyment of the Christmas Market. It’s set up in the city’s most prominent square—all lit up in the dark afternoon with hanging lights—and contains all of the things that Castiel told him about and more. There’s rows of stalls filled with handmade commodities and the occasional oddity, each one flanked by a food stall that emanate the delicious scent of freshly baked pastries and other cooked dishes.

“Here, please drink this,” Castiel says, suddenly appearing at his side after disappearing fifteen minutes earlier and handing Sam a small styrofoam cup. “It’s sbiten.”

Sam peers down at the steaming hot brown liquid, skeptically cocking an eyebrow as he raises it to his lips. It tastes as good as it smells—like spiced wine, honey-sweet with the fruitiness of something. 

_‘Jam?’_ Sam thinks, remembering the nation’s fascination with putting the stuff on or in everything. Even Castiel loves putting it on his daily toast. Sam glances over to look at his partner, who sips at the drink blissfully. _‘Yeah, probably jam.’_

***

They wander to a nearby park, finding an empty bench near the statue in the center and claiming it. Their spot is a little dim since the streetlamps are few and far between and the sky is growing a few shades darker as the day approaches its end. Sitting with an ample space between them, Sam and Castiel sit and drink their sbiten and share a slice of honey cake made by a sweet little old lady at the Christmas Market.

Sam looks up from his cup to see Castiel look around them almost exaggeratedly before he slithers a gloved hand across the peeling wooden bench and intertwines their fingers together. The action surprises Sam, a blush rises to his cheeks and adds to the color that’s already there from the cold. But he can’t help but to feel the both the urge to draw his hand back to protect Castiel and the urge to be proud and public about their relationship.

It hurts Sam deeply to feel these conflicting emotions. It’s becoming so clear to him just how much he needs to touch and hold, to show his affection—and not being able to do that outside of the two-hundred and seventy square feet of Cas’ apartment is killing him.

***

“Are you lying to me?” Cas shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at Sam across the couch. “Please say you are!”

“Nope,” Sam says, his lips curling up in an evil grin. “Not lying at all.”

“This is unacceptable!” Castiel whines, throwing a piece of popcorn at the computer screen. “I _refuse_ to accept it!”

Sam laughs uncontrollably, clutching his gut while he watches his partner throw the exact same fit he threw when he learned that _Firefly_ was cancelled after only fourteen episodes.

“I need more!”

***

It’s the evening of Christmas Eve—or at least, Christmas Eve for Sam since Castiel’s religion celebrates it on January seventh—and they’re getting ready for bed when Castiel turns to him with a small red paper envelope from the nightstand drawer in his hands. He looks to Sam, a little bashful.

“I know we decided against Christmas presents this year, but I hope that you don’t mind that I have a card for you,” he says, handing it to him like something precious.

“Oh really? I’m kind of relieved because I have one for you too,” Sam returns, stooping to unzip the inside pocket of his suitcase and pulling out a green envelope sealed with a round gold sticker. He holds it between them in shy offerance. “Here, you go first.”

***

Sam stares down at the front of the handmade card decorated in meticulously cut out shapes of Russia and the continental United States cut from pages of their respective local newspapers. It’s clever and cute and looks almost professionally made, putting Sam’s own store-bought card to shame instantly.

He tries his hardest to discern what the Russian words written inside translate to. He must be struggling a little too much as Castiel comes to his rescue, fishing the card from his hands and reading it aloud.

“It’s a Russian saying. It says ‘В это время года , когда все на самом деле думает о тех, которые они любят и дорожатбольше всего, мои мысли устремлены на вас,’” Castiel reads, his mother-tongue flowing effortlessly off his lip but Sam can only catch a few simple words here and there. “Which translates to roughly ‘At this time of year, when everyone thinks of those they love and treasure the most, my thoughts are fixed on you.’”

“Cas…” Sam is speechless—there’s nothing he could say that would amount to a heartfelt sentiment like that. Instead he reaches across and gathers him into his arms, into a tight hug that he hopes will convey all the words that he can’t seem to voice.

Sam considers saying ‘I love you’ but he feels that the phrase is not strong enough for what he’s feeling. _‘Oh, the faults of the English language,’_ Sam thinks to himself.

***

“Here’s these back,” Sam says, holding a stack of clothing in his hand in the space between them. “They should, uh, smell like me again. Or at least I hope they do.”

Castiel gathers the articles of clothing into his arms, taking a deep inhale. From the heavenly expression on his face, Sam knows they’re just fine.

“Thank you,” Cas says, stashing them carefully in the top drawer of his nightstand. “They will help a lot in the future.”

***

“We’ve gone through this once before,” Castiel says the morning of the day that Sam leaves to go home. His tone is soft, reassuring, but not completely as if he didn’t quite believe himself. “We can survive it again.”

“I know,” Sam says, pulling his partner a few inches closer to him on the bed, drinking in his heat and his scent as much as he can. “‘S doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“Of course,” Cas agrees with a whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to Sam’s forehead. “Of course…”

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” Sam begins, feeling his eyes start to well up. He brings up a sleeve to wipe his face but Castiel is too fast for him, brushing away the falling tear with a thumb. “I just wish we lived closer to each other.”

“We did nothing to deserve this distance,” his partner murmurs, continuing to shower Sam’s face with brief little kisses as if they’d solve everything. “But one day, we’ll be together in the same space.”

Sam’s attention peaks at the statement, eyes fluttering open to look at Cas. It’s something they haven’t talked about yet, being _together_ together. “Really? You really think so?”

“I _know_ so.”

***

The area near the airport security is rather clear of people except for a few in line and some airport employees hovering around. Still too many people, Sam decides begrudgingly. But they still stand close, probably too close to be ‘just friends’ but it’s all he can get in public.

Sam would be lying if he said he wasn’t heartbroken over the fact that he can’t give his love one last goodbye kiss before leaving and not seeing him again for god knows how long. For the past twenty minutes, he’s been fighting every fiber of his being to not lean in and catch Cas’ lips between his own.

The large clock on the wall ticks over the hour and an automated ding rings through the airport accompanied by a woman’s voice announcing the time. With a heavy heart, Sam gives Castiel a forlorn, sympathetic look before turning away, gathering his bag onto his shoulder and reaching for the handle of his rolling suitcase. He can’t even get himself to say the word ‘goodbye.’ 

It would break him.

Hands come from behind to grip his shoulders, spinning him around quickly. Sam lets out a small shout in surprise, the sound only to be stifled a split-second later when a mouth crashes against his. Eyes flying open, Sam sees that Castiel is kissing him. _Kissing_ him in public. It’s sloppy, it’s crude, it’s off-center… and it’s perfect.

Castiel cuts the kiss short, spinning Sam back around despite his protests and forcibly pushing him towards the entrance of the airport security line. His face looks incredibly distraught, cheeks reddened and his eyes are wet.

“Cas…!” Sam tries as he’s pushed forward.

“Please, Sam. Just _go_ ,” Castiel says over the crack in his voice. Sam watches at a complete loss of words as his partner turns tail and briskly walks toward the exit, not even sparing him a second glance.

***

_[Cas: I apologize for how I acted. It was rude.]_

_[Sam: No! It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it. Honestly I wanted to kiss you the entire time but I didn’t think we should, but I got a little confused when you pushed me away.]_

_[Cas: I’m sorry. I couldn’t let you leave without a kiss.]_

_[Sam: Then maybe you shouldn’t have and then I wouldn’t have had to leave. :) ]_

_[Cas: If only the world worked that way.]_

***

When Sam touches down at the J. F. K. International Airport, he takes the opportunity to check his email and iMessages that he couldn’t receive abroad. Most of them are from school, classmates, or Dean but the last iMessage is one that catches his eye. It’s from Castiel and Sam has to do a considerable amount of scrolling up to read it.

_[Cas: Sam, I realize that this visit was not as wonderful as you may have imagined. The place in which I live has put great restraints on us and our relationship. Normally, I do not have any issues in being myself in public nor do I tend to notice other people or have to worry about how they view me. However, this week was an eye-opening experience. I wish with all my heart that we could have enjoyed ourselves more outside of my apartment. I think your visit to Murmansk has allowed me to realize that I would do anything to be closer to you. I would give up everything to be able to wake up to you every morning and hold your hand and kiss you in public. And I hope that one day we will no longer have to travel more than a few feet to see each other.]_

Each word strikes a chord in Sam’s heart, resonating in his very soul. As he waits for his flight back to San Francisco, the last leg of his journey, Sam types and retypes his reply to such a long and thoughtful message. Unfortunately, his words seem to fail him and nothing sounds right. He regretfully opts for a simple message.

_[Sam: I want all of that too. Though hopefully sooner rather than later.]_

Castiel’s reply is surprisingly quick—he must be awake, even though it’s the middle of the night in Murmansk. Not that the sky would say any different, Sam jokes with himself.

_[Cas: I think we could arrange that. That is, if you’re agreeable.]_

_[Sam: Are you asking]_

_[Sam: What are you saying]_

_[Sam: Oh my god]_

_[Cas: (-: ]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very very late, I am sorry. ;n; I have lost my ability to write.  
> Come join me on tumblr @ ghostgarrison .

**Author's Note:**

> Written bit by bit on Tumblr, over the course of three weeks. Find me there @ GhostGarrison.
> 
> A special thanks to those who follow me on Tumblr--your tags, asks, and comments kept me going!


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